Viola
by Dalena Saffi-Ann
Summary: Sequel to Chrysanthemums. Weeks later, Batman bumps into Joker. Not that he hasn't been expecting it, but not like this. Or maybe this is exactly how it's supposed to be... In that leather jacket Bruce remembers all too well? (Basically PWP)


Batman was on the edge tonight. Patrolling was difficult nowadays; it had been ever since he met... Well, Asphyxia. Three weeks later, and yet nothing. Nil. Gotham had been eerily free of masquerading costumed villains, almost like they'd all took shelter somewhere and it sets a tension in the air like thick smog that couldn't even be cleared by breaking the knees of clones in balaclavas. Tonight, Batman was sure he could smell something more fresh and sharp than the oncoming winter. No, Batman knew he could, for the sharp, refreshing taste of cold and ice in the air was nothing like the acidic pang of a body rotting itself to decay.

Then again, Batman had been sure of a climax or at least a build-up for three weeks, and always created similar reasons to justify the emotion. Bruce inwardly sighed, yet the bat fought him off. The two couldn't merge when he was under the comfort of Kevlar and scrubbed, yet still stained with blood, black gauntlets. Last time they clashed, the results were disastrous. Thirty minutes of patrol had sailed smoothly, and Batman changed his position, another rooftop three blocks away to survey below, above and around him. He'd never felt like this much of a coiling spring.

"Well, hello there sugar," Footsteps shifted on the concrete of the rooftop and Batman spun on his heel to catch where the nasal, flirtatious voice had came from. Crap. He didn't check behind him. "Did you like my, ah, little gift I sent you?" He froze as Joker seated himself on the low wall around the perimeter. It didn't take too long for the Batman to figure out he had indeed been talking about Asphyxia. "Y'know, I was considering sending Harley but that seemed..." he swooned dramatically. "A little too much like sharing. Plus, the Brooklyn accent. I doubt, as clever as my little girl is, she'd be able to-"

Batman sauntered towards the figure, and in a moment of madness saw the leather adorning his figure, and stopped. The trademark white-black-red-green war-paint still clung to his features like parasites, however the jacket... He very suddenly felt much like a dog in a parked, slow-roasting car. The Joker was in leather and drainpipe, denim jeans. Fuck. "C'mon Bats, I'm disappointed. I think this lays a new record for the longest we've talked without physical contact..." Black leather, and Bruce found himself wondering, 'what was it with the leather?' shoed toes stubbed at the concrete, bored denim-clad legs swinging. "Why don't you just, ah, come here."

The double entendre should have been ignored, was there to be ignored, but Bruce shivered still. He licked the roof of his dry mouth cautiously. "What is it this time? Are we on limited time due to a bomb on a timer?" It's more than Batman spoke, but Bruce was slowly easing his way through. Nervous situations always make him talkative.

"So good ole' Harv was right about the leather," he brushes a palm over one of his heavily-dressed pectorals. "Now he told me a li-tle secret about you two and this coat." Batman swayed on his heels. No. No way. This isn't happening. How could he not recognize that strong biker fabric, the pockets and the heavy zips that when, undone, always fell in front of Harvey's crotch? So that must have meant the vast expanse of Gotham's hoodlums and criminals had spent three weeks giggling over shared stories about their encounters with Bruce Wayne? The thought sent a shiver down his spine, and Batman knew that Harvey's next encounter with him was going to re-kindle the burnt nerves in his face.

"Can you cut to the chase, or I'll do it for you?" Batman shook off the arising rage and kept himself indifferent. For now.

"We are at the chase, Bruce." A wicked flash of scarred red was all Batman needed, and he flung himself at the other body, gripped him by the collar lapels and shoved him sideward, making a show of pinning him to the concrete flooring, straddling his thighs and winding him with a gauntlet to the stomach. Wheezing laughter somehow echoed, even though they were on some high-rise rooftop, of all places and the Bat so badly wanted to rip out vocal cords and use them for garters- not that they'd fit around the bulging muscles of his thighs. "Oh, baby..."

The phrase was drawn out to several syllables, and Batman gripped the lapels of _Harvey's_ jacket and pressed his thumbs just above the Joker's clavicle, finding the spot that made men wince and writhe and scream. But only an under reaction was brought from the man, and he squirmed and wriggled as if being tickled. "What are you planning?" the Bat's voice was harsher than ever, rough and strained as he kept his thumbs on the twin-spots.

"We, Bats." It took a while for the phrase to kick in, yet once it did he claimed his right hand back and threw a punch to that face, covered in greasepaint. His head snapped to the side, yet the only noise of any emotion was that sickening laugh. He repositioned his head, eyes catching the Batman's, playful and inviting "Wait, and see. Nothing tonight unfortunately, for I am on-" his own voice cut him off with a strained pant. "Mgh, a tight schedule, and we are still, ah, lining up the fireworks." The grin that formed on his face was sadistic. "Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise now would we?"

Bruce cringed inwardly. Goddammit, no matter whether he took him in to Gordon, to Arkham, anywhere, he'd be out by the morning and joining up with the soiree of criminals, wherever their hide-out is. And this wasn't a game; the Joker was not playing and would not reveal anything he didn't want the Bat to know. "Fuck!" He cursed and pushed the Joker's shoulder into the floor with a bone-shattering smack, before dismounting him. The laughter came back, vivid and humoured.

"Oh, poor, poor Brucie. You're just going to have to wait this one out, aren't you, sugar?" Bruce took a few steps back, rage-burning eyes not leaving the body that still flipped itself up like a feline.

"Fuck you. Why are you here?!" His voice was building to a crescendo quite like it had in the interrogation room. But this wouldn't be the same scenario. The Joker wasn't playing, and he hadn't set up a little game of choice.

"Wouldn't you like to?" A tongue flicked out and visibly licked the collar of the jacket. Batman's eyes widened in shock and disgust. "Mm, it still tastes like you. Where did Harv say you-"

" _Why are you here_?!"

"-On it again? Was it here-?" A hand touched that zipper, and pulled it down from his mid-ribcage to where the last tooth settled between the legs of those denim jeans.

" _Shut up!_ "

"Oh, Batsy... Why am I always here?" He smacked his lips with that same tongue. "To play with you?" His voice was making it seem like it had been blatantly, obviously the Joker's motive all along. It took Batman barely a second to detect the scraping of a blade, and less than three to dodge a charging madman. Maybe a little longer to restrain the equipped arm, but there's still room for improvement. Their struggle ended with the butcher's knife skidding to settle over the other side of the roof, and Batman yet again straddling thighs with the clown's wrists pinned above his head.

"Mgh, oh Bats..." He hummed underneath him, struggling a little and arching up his torso. "Anyone would think that you, ah, rather enjoy this position..." He bucked up his hips, and in any other circumstance it would have been treated as a pathetic, futile effort to escape. "Did Assie?" No doubt an abbreviation of Asphyxia's name. Batman attempted to push him harder into the concrete floor, yet it only became a shallow thrust of his hips and a feeble push of his hands. Damn it, he should play no part in encouraging this madman. The clown, obviously taking this as encouragement, because that was the wrong move to make, and anyone would- insane of not- wriggled down so Batman straddled his hips instead.

Frustration curbed his enthusiasm and Batman wanted to beat him to a bloody pulp so badly. Yet what would that achieve? Pools on the rooftop that would have to be explained? Yet more excitement for the madman? Exhausted of arguing against reason that could easily be avoided, the Bat swung a punch to the Joker's jaw, and it snapped up. He'd avoided dislocation, but there was bound to be swelling.

"Mm, I do like it rough, Bruce. I know you do too." The voice was a mixture between a purr and a growl, and Batman found himself regretting not restraining the left wrist after he'd completed the notion when a hand slipped under the cowl at the scruff of his neck, and fisted itself into his hair. "Mm, come on baby. I know you want to, and it is rather a tradition in this jacket, huh?" The last comment was so infuriating that Batman used the only leverage he could on the man and pushed their lips together, breaking apart as soon as he'd grasped the bottom lips harshly between his teeth and pulled hard. The pleasured moan he received was far from what he was expecting, and why did that have to sound so hot?

Batman didn't have time to think before he was dragged down hard by his hair to meet pliant, slowly-bleeding lips with his own, and he kissed roughly again, biting and lapping into the warmth. He tasted of blood, gunpowder and sweat. Fuck, wasn't it delicious. The Bat moved his hands to the jacket, and growled as he felt leather underneath his fingertips, and then warm, scarred flesh. He was naked under it? How had Bruce not noticed that? His hips dipped down, and the trance broke once he felt something warm, and hard underneath the belt of his suit.

The kiss broke abruptly and he pushed himself up on the concrete, dislodging hands from leather and skin. He had just kissed the Joker, and saying he liked it was an understatement. The mouth was cocked into a smirk underneath him, bloodied and smeared with paint. He assumed his own exposed jaw, chin and lips wouldn't be in a much better condition.

"Guilt tripping on me already, Bats? It's rather early for that..." Fight or flight? Fuck or run? Bruce had no idea, and neither did the Bat. Yet as a pair of slim hips ground into his, he felt his self-control slipping. So what if he was a murderer? He and Harv had fucked- and what a fuck it was- in this very jacket. The differences merged and the Bat found his mind playing less of a part in his next thoughts. The belt became incredibly tight around his groin, an innocent and cocky grin on the wide lips of the madman below him. Bruce felt as if he were above a promiscuous nun. Or at least that was the level of taboo he was sinking to with a thrust of his hips onto the hard, fleshy and pliant all at the same time, mass beneath him.

"Mm, Batsy..." the Joker moaned, throwing his head back when he repeated the action. It sounded put on for show, and for some reason it made the Bat want to draw a more raw noise from him when he had no coherent thought to fake one. Maybe he ought to put the mouth to work. He leaned down and kissed bloody lips again, hard and lustful. Bruce had turned from repulsed and shocked to wanton and whorish in three seconds, and how that worked he had no idea. It was possibly allowing that side of him (who'd be fucked by Harvey again with charred face chafing against his shoulder and teeth roaming on his back, and who'd be bonded by Ivy's vines to an alley wall as she violated him) to take over. Ruthless ideas that Bruce would never admit to fantasising about whilst out of the suit, and sometimes even in.

The grinding became more incessant, and the Bat momentarily turned to Bruce for support as the buttons of tight jeans pushed up to his wandering fingertips. And maybe skinny denim had been a bad idea, yet for some reason Batman wondered whether the Joker actually enjoyed the pain of being restrained, held in tight and denied release. The image of the man above him, sweating and writhing for more contact as he was brought closer to the edge, yet denied at the last, flailing seconds for the whole treatment to begin again hurried his fumbling fingers.

"Gloves off." The growl was feral, and of course he was going to demand this. Batman swiftly removed the armoured gauntlets, and just seeing his hands made it a apparent how much he was shaking. Either from lust, anxiety or just downright terror, he didn't know. Either way, he was too exhilarated to care.

Batman mouthed at skin, trailing down exposed neck, leather and finally to a metal zipper among denim. His hands fisted in the bottom of the jacket, the material against his skin a reminder of the last time he'd done this. Bending Harvey over his own desk, biting at the collar and lapels as he fucked into him hard. Who would know that the Bat had a leather kink? Possibly, now the whole boat of Gotham's criminals. Fuck, but it can't be helped. He tugged down the undone pants and breathed a sigh or arousal at the sight before him. The clown had not been wearing any underwear, and his thick cock stood proudly up. He had not broken yet- the cocky smirk still apparent on his face, yet the breath- almost whimper- that Bruce exhaled over the head made his eyes roll back in pleasure.

 _Damn. So much for being intimidating._ The bat firmly gripped both thighs and spread them wider, burying his head in the exposed navel curtained by both drapes of metal zipper. The trembling pale stomach beneath him glimmered in the moonlight not so unlike Harvey's did in the midday sun. He bit into the sensitive flesh, hearing a whimper above him and hot, wet cock rocking into his chin. Fuck, Joker was so close already, and he'd barely been touched. Is this what the Batman did to him?

Bruce pulled back to examine his handiwork, forming bruises and shimmering trails of saliva. And, of course, that manhood that beaded pre-come at the tip. "Fuck, that's delicious..." his tongue darted out to lap at it tantalisingly, and he heard a wild moan above him, thighs trembling under his grip.

"Oh, please Bruce just... Oh please..." the broken pleas above him and the hands grating at the concrete signalled his beast's frustration and need for release. Bruce lapped again and looked up at the shameless lust adorning his enemies' features, head thrown back, eyes fluttering like pleasure was closing them and he was trying hard to keep them open. He slowly took his head into his mouth, tongue never stopping stroking across the slit and along the underside. "Batsy... My god that's perfect..."

He bobbed his head yet again, bringing another moan out of his rival. What an idea. He repeated the notion again and again, only letting him out of his mouth with a wet popping noise once he heard a moan louder than the previous, looking back up at his rival's face. Fuck, it was beautiful. Debauched and smeared with its usual paint, and hell, sweat already. Bruce found himself wondering what he'd looked like thoroughly fucked, and then the sense that this man must be helplessly attractive under his warpaint sends a shiver from his head to his toes, then back up to his groin.

The fingers slipping up and tugging on the cowl brought him back to himself sharply like a brick of ice.

"I can't be seen to be doing this." The Batman gritted out through clenched teeth. He attempted to pull back sharply, but his hair tugged at the roots because of the grip on it.

"Who's watching?" The voice that came out matched its owners painted face. Teasing, and sassy. "I'm not even making you take off the mask..." His tongue seemed to curl in his mouth, and Batman wanted so badly to bite at the muscle when it next tried to dominate him. It could wait. If he'd ever allow himself to stoop this low again. "C'mon, Brucie... Finish what you started..."

Technically, it wasn't him that had started it. But Batman still clamped a hand over his scarred mouth because realising how dangerous this position was had brought on the feeling that the name he'd spoken is very oh-so dangerous too. "Shut. Up." The Bat growled, and then his mouth was on him again, swallowing him down as a groan erupted between his clenched fingers. Batman slowly, yet surely, moved his hand down from his mouth to his throat, hands clenching around the pale neck as the Joker moaned again, louder and bucked his hips, harder, yet failing to gain more contact with the other digits a vice around his hip.

"Pleasepleasepleaseplease _please_..." Batman had unclenched his hold for a minute as not to murder his nemesis, only to hear begging, begging more and begging hard. His wandering fingers dipped into the folds of the jacket and tugged a nipple, twisting, pinching and circling it with slight pressure enough to drive the man under him crazy, all the while lapping up the underside with his tongue, pulling all the tricks he could. "Oh, _fuck_ , bats..." The voice above him was utterly wrecked, and Bruce couldn't help but see _Harvey_ below him, ass beat raw from Bruce's Armani belt, coming in hot pulses over his own dress shirt and leather adornment as he was frantically fucked.

"I'm... I'm coming bats... I'm gonna..." Joker threw his head back, hard against the roof, and Bruce watched through his eyelashes, pulling back and lapping at the slit. The jolt that shuddered through him made him groan low in his throat, and the madman was done, bucking and shaking and _coming_ apart in Bruce's mouth. Thoroughly sated, the man let himself fall limp against the concrete, not even daring himself to watch as Batman swallowed the remnants of his pleasure for fear that he might come undone yet again.

Batman stood, legs shaky yet able, and recomposed himself, attempting to be ignorant of the uncomfortable tightness of his suit around his groin. "Discuss with anyone about how Bruce Wayne lives up to expectation, I'll break my rule and shoot you." And then Batman was gone, leaving a quite naked, panting Joker to re-compose himself.

Batman didn't even bother staying out to patrol- he knew the forces of evil, or most of them at least, would be too busy sorting out a queue of 'who's next in line to fuck' him. What he did do, when he reached the cave, was methodically strip his suit and jump straight into the shower. He beat himself off so hard his wrist ached as he turned the knob on his shower, momentarily mournful that he didn't request a return of the favour. Yet he was sure he would regret it more if he did. Later that night when he settled for bed, Bruce felt ill that he'd even touched himself to the memory of that hard cock in his mouth, and those scarred lips on his own. Perhaps leaving was the best move. Perhaps he wouldn't have been able to control himself if he'd stayed.

Bruce drifts to sleep with the words on his lips. _Do I want to control myself around him?_


End file.
